Free With This Kiss by Victoria Lynne

have regarded the issue as an example of the fickle twist of fate, but to my uncle it was a matter of profound wrongdoing. He even went so far as to hire a solicitor to press his case before the High Court of Chancery.”
    “What happened?”
    A rueful smile touched her lips. “As you might imagine, the current Earl of Giffin was not keen on the idea of relinquishing his title and all his estates. Naturally he used the sum of his power to protect what is his. The claim was dismissed as being without merit.”
    “Did your father participate in the suit?”
    “My father?” She gave a startled laugh. “He thought it was an embarrassment and told my uncle so directly. Of course, that only deepened the rift between them.” She lifted her shoulders in a light shrug. “And that leads us back to the present day. Uncle Cyrus may have been denied his rightful place in society, but he is determined to secure a place in the peerage for Marianne and Theresa.”
    “I see.”
    Morgan’s gaze moved to the doorway, where a young maid stood balancing a silver tray. At his nod she stepped out onto the veranda and placed the tray on a small table, then exited without a word. He reached down, removed a tall, frosty glass from the tray, and passed it to Julia.
    The glass was brimming with ice chips and felt wonderfully cool and moist to the touch. Fighting back an urge to press it against her cheeks and temples, she lifted it to her lips instead and took a sip of the contents. Lemonade. An icy concoction that was at once tart and sweet, a perfect antidote to the heat of the day.
    As she drank, a fat drop of water trickled down the side of the glass. It plummeted off the bottom of the glass like a heavy raindrop, striking her collarbone. Before she could catch it, the droplet cascaded down the soft swell of her bosom, disappearing into the shadowy cleavage of her breasts. Mortified, Julia raised her eyes to Morgan’s, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
    His gaze was locked on the exact point where the droplet had disappeared.
    A sudden sensual tension surged between them, a tension that was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. She swallowed hard, searching for something to say to ease the awkwardness of the moment. Before she could speak, however, he lifted his gaze to hers.
    “I’m glad you wore the pale green,” he said. “It becomes you.”
    As usual, his expression was unreadable. Not certain how to respond, she set down her glass and turned away, directing her attention toward the fountain that bubbled in the courtyard, a gardener engaged in pulling weeds, two squirrels clucking over a single acorn. In short, anywhere but at the man she had married.
    Unfortunately Morgan St. James wasn’t ready to be so easily dismissed. “You mentioned at the Devonshire House that we had met before, yet I don’t recall doing so.”
    She gave a curt nod, forcing her gaze back to his. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember,” she replied, relieved to find that her tone was remarkably even. “It was a brief, inconsequential meeting. The occasion was Lady Catrell’s annual ball, and I recall the affair was quite a crush.”
    As Julia spoke, the memory of that meeting surged to the front of her mind. She remembered the way Lady Catrell’s giddy whisper had filled her ear:
Here he comes. Morgan St. James. Notorious rakehell. Despoiler of innocents. Beware. Beware.
Yet even as she had pressed the warning upon her, Lady Catrell’s eyes had danced over Morgan’s form with a hungry intensity that radiated naked longing and desire. And Julia had waited, breathless, her heart in her throat as he had approached. A beautiful, strutting peacock in a sea of plain brown hens. He had greeted Julia politely. She had murmured a cordial response in return. He had excused himself and moved on.
    Morgan seemed to be searching his mind, attempting to place their meeting. Apparently failing to do so, he changed the topic. “Your father was a captain, was he not? A